


I See You Not There

by Wonndr



Series: Unsteady Reminder [1]
Category: Ghost Hunt
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, False Memories, Help, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, Memories, Naru-centric, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parapsychology, Psychology, Supernatural Elements, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, We Die Like Men, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonndr/pseuds/Wonndr
Summary: Sometimes, he remembers not remembering, he knows not knowing, and he forgets forgetting memories not of his own....Unstable.
Relationships: Oliver Davis & Hara Masako, Oliver Davis & John Brown, Oliver Davis & Lin Koujo, Oliver Davis & Matsuzaki Ayako, Oliver Davis & Takigawa Houshou, Oliver Davis & Taniyama Mai, Oliver Davis & Yasuhara Osamu
Series: Unsteady Reminder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567567
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	I See You Not There

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon I’ve hinted at in the other fics I’ve posted for this fandom, in which Noll’s memories get mixed with ones he’s lived through that are not his. This is a topic that really interests me and I just wish it’d be expanded on, that people would talk about it more cause... I want;-;;  
> Been working on this on and off in between school work and the second chapter shouldn’t take too long but I shall make no promises, ‘tis a busy time of the year, I am not to blame. 
> 
> Unedited, obviously.

Sometimes, he remembers not remembering, he knows not knowing, and he forgets forgetting memories not of his. They mix with his own, in his life, and his mind tricks him over and again with words he’s never heard and touches he’s never felt. It always takes him too long to understand - to remember. He doesn’t really remember, per say, but he _t_ _hinks._

He hates it when people yell at him - people get angry at him so easily, he doesn’t understand - he hates the fire in their eyes, feels it dancing on his skin, playful and scorching and hateful and he can’t begin to understand why people seem to _hate_ him so much.

Although, to be fair, Eugene yelled a lot too, and he knew, for a fact, his brother was nearly incapable of hatred. 

He was wrong about that one, but we won’t tell him that just yet. 

Those memories not of his own, he struggles to keep them behind a thin line, a barrier between his life and theirs. More often than not, though, that line shakes like a plucked chord, sharp and uneven and he feels his world spin, his mind swims and he can’t see until he does and he doesn’t know what he sees or feels or if it’s real or fake or _his._

It’s constant, permanent, he knows there’s no way around it but to face it head on and hope he’ll be able to understand. Most times, though, he doesn’t.

People don’t notice it unless it’s obvious and strange and open. They can’t read his mind, they can’t see what he sees, and they don’t know he’s constantly worrying if he’s walking straight, if he’s falling, if his body is whole, if his feet are on the ground, if he’s responding when they speak, if he’s living like he’s supposed to. It’s exhausting and overwhelming, to be constantly aware, to always expect something to be wrong. 

To think _who are these people?_ even though you know them and both thoughts clash and it’s all he can do to keep his face neutral, blank, cold. He’d rather come off as cold than-

Now, there was no use to that. 

Without Gene, they all think of him like that. A ticking bomb just about to explode, on edge, _unstable_.

They’re right, he knows. And he hates it.

And he hates that he still can’t remember where he left the cup he just had with him but remembers where he’d left the papers for the divorce of a woman he never married, said papers he’d never carried, of a life that was not his own and still he _remembered_.

Anything could trigger a reaction, he realized. It seemed no matter how many years he’d spent perfecting his composure - taking notes, writing journals he’d read through every night, and not remember a single thing or maybe he’d remember everything and more, not sure if more had actually happened - any hammer would smash through his skull and he’d be blind again, and he’d see too much again. 

Unstable.

He was constantly on edge, as aforementioned. Always checking himself, his posture, his look, his voice, if he’s speaking or staring or responding _right_. He feared he’d speak something they wouldn’t understand because what he said _he_ didn’t say and it was a distant memory of someone else in a different situation and it _wasn’t him_. He feared he’d scare someone, disgust them, hurt them and many people thought he wouldn’t _care_ be he _does_.

They didn’t hurt him, not him, not them, this is different, not me, not them- he tries so hard to rationalize these thoughts, to _understand_ but he _can’t_ and they can’t either-

When Houshou’s warmth draws closer, he feels it, and it feels familiar and comfortable and it’s good. When he sits beside him, on the arm of his chair, his heavy presence doesn’t feel as oppressive as it does sometimes, as it did before when they didn’t really know each other well, when they weren’t as close as they are now and it was _fine_. He feels a rumble through himself, that didn’t come from within but reverberated inside and he knows what had caused it but he can’t bring his ears to open up to the sound of Houshou’s voice beside him.

He’s vaguely aware of the feel of paper on his fingertips so he focuses on it, and the feeling comes to his body once again, spreads through his hand and up his arm and his left side comes to life. He still can’t exactly see, for some reason, although he’s certain he has his eyes open. A blackness overlays his vision and only subtle changes of color alert him to his surroundings. 

Sound comes to him muffled at first, and it’s quite a _quick_ process, all of this, although I make it sound so long. “Naru?” He hears, and panic builds inside of him for he still can’t speak, his throat won’t open, his breath is barely coming and he’s only just coming back, he needs more time-

He knows he’s concerned - Houshou, I mean. All of them, present in the room. But it’s not _his_ _fault_. His mother has told him that, several times, his father, his brother, Lin, Madoka, they know and they insist and he wants to believe but there are no hands encircling his throat, allowing him to breathe but not utter a word or a simple sound, nothing would come out and he had no one to blame but _himself_.

“Naru-chan, are you okay?” 

Warmth draws closer, too close, and it isn’t as comfortable anymore because he knows he can’t respond, he can’t move and he can’t speak and if only they could wait just a few more _seconds_ he’d say _something_ but for now- 

When the hand touches his cheek it’s too hot, scalding against his frozen skin - he shudders for but a second though his body does not respond when he wills it to move away. A thumb lands on his other cheek and the hand turns him around and it’s slow and gentle but it’s too fast for him and it’s rough and, logically, he knows it isn’t, he knows what’s happening and what isn’t and still the panic grows inside and that kind hand turns cruel, the fingers dig too deep into his skin, bruise his jaw, the thumb pushes inside of his mouth, presses on his tongue and down his throat and he chokes - he remembers that too vividly and his racional side knows it wasn’t him but he _felt_ it-

His body moves too fast - he comes around and is pressed against the wall, his chair had flown back to the windows on the back wall of the office, the coffee table and couches had moved away, some of the tea had spilled to the floor. His breathing is too rapid and he can’t seem to keep up, isn’t sure if he’s the one breathing at all, or maybe he is and not only- he’s shaking too hard, he notes, can’t seem to find the strength to hold onto himself and still he tries, he fears if he lets go he’ll fall apart, break into all the him he’s not and lose himself in the pile.

There are hands on him when he falls to the ground - his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore. He feels nor warmth nor cold from them, but a weight he can’t _stand_ \- they’re too heavy on him, they press too hard and he knows that can’t be because he recognizes Lin’s and Houshou’s hands right away, and he knows how gentle they are, and still- 

His head feels heavy and too full, his cheeks warm and still he’s freezing and scalding and he doesn’t know how he feels - he never knows, no matter how many times this happens, it’s either always different or he just can’t _remember_. “Noll.” He looks up at the sound of his name, _his_ name, that’s what they call him not something else so that’s him, he’s him and it’s okay- “Noll, can you see me?” He can’t, for a moment. He knows his eyes are wide open, can feel them tearing up, unblinking and dry, but he can’t see, not yet. 

It was dark for a moment too long, he doesn’t know which dark it could be, the nauseating feeling of bile rising up isn’t gone but he knows that feeling is not _his_ so he breathes in deep and the green in his vision fades to pure black, with undertones of many colors - mainly browns, he notes. 

Lin is quite pale, so he sees him first - the blinds broke and fell and the office was _dark_. His blue eye glints at him and he feels at ease for a moment. “Noll?”

He remembers the question and hates the choked sound that leaves him when he tries to clear his throat. “Yeah...” It’s quiet and raspy but nobody seems to care, so he doesn’t and his shoulders slump in... some feeling he can’t point out. 

“What more can you see?” His mind is still processing, images flash by and people he knows couldn’t be, they stand in front of him and it takes a little while to answer. He vaguely sees Lin moving, his hand touching a shoulder beside him and he looks.

“Monk-“ the dark blurs in front of him again and he’s not sure if he really did see him but Lin seems happy at his response so he doesn’t mind. He tries not to pay too much attention to the shadows moving in the corners - he’s not supposed to see those, they said. Mediums can, he shouldn’t, and he vaguely wonders is Masako was seeing them too.

“Anything else?” He feels his eyes drawn to the side and spots the chair lying upside down against the wall, glass had fallen on top, small glints of light littering the back of the chair and a small pile on the floor - though he couldn’t see the broken window. He still feels the connection between them, his palms scorching hot - he hadn’t noticed that before, though he’d practiced just for that.

“The chair.” A slight waver to his voice draws a frown on Lin’s face and a hand is on him again, on his shoulder, and he turns to face him. For a split second, another face flashes before him, the hand on his shoulder too tight and heavy and pressing and bruising and then it’s gone and it’s just Lin again.

“That’s okay,” he says, voice soft. It’s always so soft when this happens, and he feels childish, small and he knows that’s what he probably looks like, shaking like a leaf, voice trembling and eyes watering and he hates it but Lin doesn’t and Lin will never treat him like they did. “Can you spot Matsuzaki-san?”

He doesn’t know why he asked that in particular but then he sees and Ayako is wearing a light pink polish and a white dress shirt, they both reflect the dim light in the room quite strongly and it wasn’t very hard to spot so he nods and turns back to Lin.

“That’s good,” he says, more to himself. Noll vaguely notices the scene before him hasn’t changed in a while, so he takes another breath, slow and steady and quiet and wills himself to focus on what’s happening, on what’s really happening. “Can you see John?”

He looks around, determined, and spots him almost immediately. “There,” he sighs, and his heart bursts in warmth at the smile John gives, so bright and comforting and there’s something ethereal about him he can’t begin to understand. 

“Very quick,” Lin says with a quiet laugh. Noll glares at him, tries to explain as he feels the need to, for some reason. 

And he speaks in English, for some other reason. “John seems to shine so brightly,” he says, unconscious of the childish wonder tone in his voice, “like a light you’re always safe to follow-“ John laughs shortly at that, close, and hands him a cup of water.

“I didn’t know you liked me that much, Mr. Davis.” He speaks in English too and don’t notice how the others didn’t seem to care. “But I assume you were speaking figuratively, right?” There was a different light in his eyes, something he _could_ recognized if he tried a little harder but he decides against it, brushes it off and in a second it’s gone and he’s left questioning if he was seeing the right thing again.

But he was and he knows it.

And he was speaking literally too. If the others can’t see it, he can, and the light emanating from John’s very self is very much real. So he doesn’t answer the question, hums quietly to himself and murmurs a thank you for the water.

“Can you stand?” Lin extends his hands towards him and he takes it with but a moment of hesitation. 

“Probably,” he says, barely notices John taking the glass from his hand before he’s being pulled up to his feet. He wavers a little and his left knee buckles under his weight and he very much nearly falls though Lin is there to straighten him up. He’s shaky and anxious and not at all ready for the onslaught of questions just waiting to barge through his head so he pouts just slightly and feels the rumble of Lin suppressed laughter through the older’s chest.

“Come rest in my office, I’ll deal with the damage,” Lin says, and Noll nearly smiles at him. Seven years putting up with each other give you that much, and Noll is very thankful of Lin’s sharp eyes and sharper mind when it comes to noticing the smallest things about him.

Lin helps him to his couch and leaves him to rest and mess with his notebook - Lin knows he can’t keep the little drawings from appearing inside so might as well indulge - and closes the door when he leaves.

He wasn’t ready either when Houshou came to him, fidgety, hunched and tiny, almost curled over himself and eyes wide and worried, but he was more or less ready for something similar. For some reason he’d thought Mai would be the first to trigger it, though this is no different, if only the slightest bit easier.

He heaved a sigh, shoulders slumped and his mind unconsciously searches for Eugene. He’d been the first to find about this, after him, and the young twin had been with him when he explained it to their parents, and Madoka later. He couldn’t help the not so foreign, heavy feeling in his chest and stomach at the thought of doing this alone, of _him_ doing this alone.

”So, here’s the thing-”

**Author's Note:**

> I love them all and will write about them till the moment I die and pass. Next chapter will be Lin just trying his best, Houshou having a panic attack, John being an angel, Masako having a heart and squeezing ours, Mai not crying, Ayako being mom and Yasuhara just... I’ll admit I’ll probably use him as some sort of comic relief although y’all should be ready cause this fic ain’t funny. 
> 
> Won just loves to write emotional torture, thank you.
> 
> Please look forward to the next chapter! Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it. If you did, kudos and review, you know the drill, Won is thirsty. Thank you.


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